


Don't Forget Your Manners in the Ghetto

by firelakie



Category: Backstreet Boys
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-11
Updated: 2010-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-11 16:27:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firelakie/pseuds/firelakie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Addiction and a deaf girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When you see someone in trouble first instinct is to go help 'em, right? A cat caught in a tree, you coax it down; kid skins his knee, you get him a Band-Aid. Society thrives on kindness. All a part of humanity that makes the world go round.

Which brings me to my focus; helping someone. Just another day I wake up in the mood for a fix. You know the likes of me--needing a nickel bag or so to get through the day. The little weasel of über-blondedom had a field day the night before. While I could've sent him out for a refill, him being white would evade dealers. He could look like undercover five-oh to them and besides the nut couldn't hold a convo with these types that would prevent him from getting his ass kicked. He talked too much, too much shit.

I go to the usual spot and wait for my contact. I smoked a cigarette in anticipation. Everything's cool until I look up the alleyway and check this chick on a fire escape. Her eyes are closed and she leans over the railing. Next thing I know she's putting one foot over and climbing it.

_Shit._ I look around and no one seems to be around. She's gonna jump and I'm the lucky bastard to witness it.

 


	2. Rescue

**Rescue** ****

A lex McLean cursed under his breath as the cigarette at his lips fell to the gum-spackled concrete. His eyes were fixed on this girl on the verge of suicide.

His mouth opened to call for help but snapped shut when he realized where he was. No one here cared. And the street was filled winos and drug addicts who'd just stare at him.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Don't jump!"

The girl didn't flinch. Maybe she was deaf, he thought wildly. Or maybe she'd heard him and just didn't want to. Crazy people did _crazy_ things. But why?

She was beautiful, he had to admit, even from the street he could tell. There was a look of peacefulness and serenity on her face. With such a pretty face he wondered what could be going wrong in her life that she chose this way out. The gorgeous had it made, in his opinion. All the world was at their feet if they wanted; life was definitely easier on them. Maybe too easy. He knew too well.

Perhaps he could save her.

His feet raced him to the fire stairs. Alex hoisted himself onto the metal dangling from the first floor.

  
She was calmly enjoying the morning air when a pair of arms yanked her off her ghetto terrace. This gawdawful nuisance left her winded. For a moment she thought she was being kidnapped. So she head butted him and delivered a chop to his neck swiftly.

"Jesus. I was only trying to help," he sputtered.

She narrowed her dark eyes on him. Wasn't going to buy that for a second. he probably figured a pretty girl out by herself was the perfect target.

"I know what you were trynna do," she said, standing over him. "I'm not stupid."

"Yeah, I was saving yer ass." He rubbed at his neck and temple respectively. "You were going to jump."

A hoarse laugh escaped her. "No. you were trynna attack me."

"I'm not going to argue with you."

"I didn't ask you to."

"What's your deal?"

She didn't answer. The young girl peered out of the open window.

"If you wasn't trying to end your life why were you climbing over the rail there?"

"Listening," she replied, her voice cracking. No one ever asked about her daily ritual. She figured many deducted her as crazy as they come. They never expressed interest. Telling someone she listened to the symphony of the streets was hard. It felt odd.

He met her statement with a raised eyebrow. The look on his face ran along the lines of are-you-serious.

"Listening?"

"Yeah."

"To what?"

"Nothing."

No use in trying to explain, she thought. It was her own personal venture. He'd never understand.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Nobody."

He raised himself up from the floor and stood. It still hurt like a bitch but was bearable. That girl packed wild punch. Walking over to the window he rescued her out of, he looked down.

"That's high," he commented. "Don't you know it's dangerous to do that shit?"

Their eyes met and he noticed she was a lot older than he thought. And a hell of a lot prettier. The rage flashed in her cold-as-ice eyes and fever in her rosy cheeks. Either she was embarrassed or really pissed. Alex put bank on the latter.

"You shouldn't climb over shit like that," he added. "You really shouldn't."

"You're not black so you're not my daddy. Don't tell me what to do," she growled.

"You're something you know that?"

"I'm me. That's all."

They stared for a while until noise from the street caught their attention. Alex recognized the guy being carted away by two burly police officers as his dealer. She wasn't fazed by the sight.

"Just Clifford," she told him.

"I know who he is."

"Looks like you're out of luck today," she muttered.

"No thanks to you."

She scratched at the side of her head and then shook her head as if her long braids were wet hair. "Whatever. I'm out."

And she was gone. Disappeared into the hall of the empty apartment leaving Alex alone.

 

  



	3. Most Beautiful Girl in the World

**most beautiful girl in the world**

****

Only a week had passed when he found himself back there. That same rank, decrepit alleyway with the lone dumpster. He had enough marijuana now, so there was simply a single reason why he was back. Her.

He came early--just the same time as before. Consciously he didn't want to admit that the visit revolved around her. Yet, he could form no other excuse.

This mysterious girl clouded his thoughts; took over his mind. All he could remember was her deep brown eyes as they flashed at him in her fit of rage. And there was also the braid thing. Long, skinny braids extended from scalp to shoulder, carefully beaded at each end. Trying to recall, Alex made out another distinction--rosy cheeks. How flushed they were when he advised her not to climb fire escapes.

Funny how angry she was as he tried to save her. Most people would be grateful at least. Most people didn't really want to die. Maybe she was the exception.

The day grew brighter as he waited. Still no sign of her. His most beautiful angry girl in the world.

_Listening. It's what I do. No one get this shit so why am I trynna explain? It's complicated._

_Sometimes a sound hits me. Of course I hear it faintly and I just want to hear it forever. Hold onto it. Live it. Experience the tone and draw out its source._

_I have to do that or I'll have nothing left. When it's gone I want to recreate it, play it over and over in my head, never let it out. That's some weird shit once you think about it._

_But sounds are music to me. Rhythms I feel daily, secrets I keep. Inspiration I learn from. Pieces of my soul no one sees._

_No one understands it._

_Just me._

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

She took the subway home. The usual route, 7th Avenue express Uptown. Every time she took this trip to the doctor by herself. As the train roared on the track, she put up her barrier and blocked the noise out. It had a certain music about it, but this a was noise she could do without.

Pulling out a notebook and pen, she wrote. So much filled the pages, one might mistake for jumbled ideas and drawings if happened upon. The language she could only follow and liked it that way. Something that was hers, only hers, she kept locked up.

All her life she'd been this way, hard, secretive, not willing to share herself. For a brief time she hadn't been but that was back when naivety prevailed. Stupidity, she liked to recall it as. A time when she didn't know the world for what it was.

At her stop, she hopped off onto the platform and dashed via the steps to her nearby home. That same apartment building facing the old Chinese food restaurant with the broken intercom buzzer frequented by crackheads. Known as the "spot". She got inside her apartment quickly.

The eerie quiet drove her out in the hall and down a flight to the empty apartment she listened to. Creaks and groans and pipes running composed a melody she absorbed and committed to memory. It changed its tempo often, each time creating something new to enjoy.

She leaned against the paint chipped wall and settled in with her paper.

"What are you writing?"

"It's not what, it's _who_," she answered, gazing up slowing to see him.

He sat beside her to investigate. She rolled her eyes and moved her book away.

"So _who_ are you writing?" he asked.

She rose and began to walk away. "My mother."

"Where is she?"

She got defensive. "She's dead."

Made her exit then. But he wasn't going to let her go so easily again. Alex followed her hurriedly upstairs. Oddly, she hadn't stopped to protest not once. At the landing, was her door which she opened and let them both in.

"I didn't know," he apologized. "Sorry."

"Keep your pity."

The apartment wasn't small, nor extravagantly large. Homely, lived in. Everything had its place though there was an air of clutter here and there. Cinnamon and fried whatever could be faintly smelled; that in-the-walls smell. Brought back the memory of his childhood. His grandmother filled the house with a fried aroma, whether it be fish, chicken or plantains. Delicacies of home. Her home.

 

[   
](http://angelfire.com/mp/lilchinag/aliciaj5.html)


	5. Chapter 5

Alex watched her movements carefully. She acted as if she were the only one in the entire room. But then her eyes fell on him lazily.

"C'mere." Head cocked to the side and then led him into the other room.

A piano. Plain honey-colored organ covered in photos of her and possibly her dead mother and a man he figured was her father. She sat down and began playing. The tune had to be original. Nothing like he'd ever heard. Her head bopped seriously as she played wholeheartedly.

He could not be less than amazed by her performance. And didn't want her to cease when she did, feeling like something great was being ripped away from him.

"This is what I'm listening for," she announced.

"Where? That can't come from out there."

"Maybe one day I'll show you."

Keys turned the lock and in came a flustered white lady with bright eyes. On her face she wore surprise. This new person resemble her a lot--the rosy cheeks, the facial shape. Alex wondered if this was her sister.

"Well, well. What do we have here?" she asked.

No reply came from Beautiful girl. She didn't even look up.

"Turn your shit up," the woman barked. "Gawd, Angie. Don't ignore me."

She gave and walked away in a huff. Alex turned to her. She was still unresponsive.

"Your sister?"

"Mother."

"But you said she was dead."

"Yeah."

"Angie!" her mother bellowed. "Get your ass in here!"

Still she pretended that her mother hadn't called.

"Maybe I should go," Alex began.

"Angelina!"

"I'll take a rain check on the listening," he added.

"Angela, get your black ass in here!" moms shouted one more 'gain.

"Shut up, ma," Angie yelled back. "I'll see you later," she told Alex at the door.

"Uh, I'm Alex," he said.

"Angie," she said, awkwardly, knowing he already got that info from her mother's tirade.

"See you around."

 


End file.
